Hello, Author-San here (who would've thought).
I see everyone's been busy (and the previous chapter wasn't too Jerza-biased), so I'll probably push the next deadline to a later date than the coming Friday. I haven't gotten to write anything with studying in the way but I hope you won't mind since most of you seem occupied as well.
foxydame, thank you soo much for your review! Pigeon-San xDxDxDxD Thank you so so much for your feedback on Ambrose - it's always tricky to weave in an OC and make them fit into the story so I'm more than happy to know what you think of him, thank you! And such a long mention on it, I'm really very grateful! (and I, too, learned the word 'chinwag' :D) 'conversing with pigeon is so classy' I really can't decide on my favourite part of your review, you made my day! Thanks for the support!
loserwin2, hello, welcome aboard, and thank you so much for taking the time to leave me a review! I appreciate it a lot! Awww thank you SO much! That's such a huge compliment! And although I don't want to praise myself, I do wish the Manga sequel was at least remotely close to this - I need confirmed Jerza in my life :D Thank you so much for such kind words! I'm smiling like an idiot and really feel that everything word's been worth it! Thank you!
"Nonsense! Absolute nonsense!" Wolfheim barked from where he throned within the Council's loge. It looked terribly empty in comparison to how it had held by far more Council members back in the day, making Jellal wonder whether they had mindlessly remodelled after the old building or planned ahead for more members than just four. Nonetheless, the shouting was intimidating. Or so it would have been, had the accused not stuck to his story without ever so much as wisping any hints at his telling to be untrue. Either a splendid liar or none at all.
Or believing a false truth, Jellal thought to himself. Right beneath the loge, the seats of the scribes had not been rebuilt. Instead – and Jellal could not be more grateful – he and Ambrose flanked the backwall, any changes in expression noticeable by the Council but not the accused.
The two diligently scribbling men hardly exchanged glances, though Jellal felt it was rather out of a mutual understanding that did not need to be confirmed. The Council was unfailingly astonished by how the two presented the same result of the accused's behaviour and testimony without so much as having blinked towards the other.
"It's true, I'm telling you!" The accused began to gesture again, handcuffed hands flailing about. He was a tall man, his brawny legs and otherwise lean appearance. Rather giving the impression of one heck of a runner instead of the unsurpassable sword wielder he claimed to be. "Have you never even seen the Grand Magic Games? They do it all the time!"
"How brazen to compare your niveau of magic to match that of the competing champions," Wolfheim snapped, looking about ready to throw his paperweight if only it would make the accused stop moving so much. Or shut up. "Utter nonsense; blasphemy!"
"Wolfheim," Draculos serenely cut in. Wolfheim snarled but sank back down into his chair with a huff.
"While I share your doubts, we must take every possibility into account," Jura stroked his chin in thought.
"It will be hard to prove without risking an assault or escape," Warrod, who was usually watching more than he was discussing, argued. And he was right – should they allow the accused to demonstrate, they hazarded the convict to either run or prompt them to strike back. Not that he would be a match for the overwhelming number of Wizard Saints, even when excluding Jellal himself, but they were understandably not too keen on destroying any more than necessary.
"Perhaps we should have someone inspect the scene again," Draculos suggested with a sigh. Jellal suppressed his own, sympathising. They had been sitting there for over four hours, listening to the ridiculously convenient testimony.
"What about the sword?" Jura supplied. Dagger, Jellal inwardly corrected. "Perhaps it is magic infused,"
"We tested that," Draculos reminded. He might have had slim eyes, but Jellal was sure they were simply closed by now. The sun had long disappeared behind the horizon, the lacrima on the walls and dangling from the ceiling their sole sources of light.
"And if the magic dispersed before we got a hold of it?" Jura held on to the thought. It was admirable how he still tried to see a reason – they could not just condemn someone, merely because they did not believe it. Or because they were tired. A man with such a clean record deserved the benefit of the doubt.
"What about a weapon expert?" Wolfheim stood again, though it hardly made him any taller. "Did you bring that warrioress with you?" He stared right past the accused and it took Jellal a moment to feel addressed. He stared up at the Wizard Saint's piercing eyes, blinking repeatedly as the question echoed through his mind.
"Erza?" He asked. All eyes had fallen on him, the accused a little stupefied as he had most likely forgotten about the scribes in his back. Or – come to think of his mention of the Grand Magic Games – he recognised Titania's name.
"She knows a thing or two about swords, right?" Wolfheim pressed.
"A thing or two," Jura chuckled to himself. The others' grim expressions started to lift, hope sparking as Jellal spoke.
"She is in Era, yes," he confirmed.
"Get her to come here then," Wolfheim ordered, muttering something about wanting to go home. Jellal shared that wish, raising despite the harsh tone he was being addressed with. He asked Jura for his lacrima, leaving the great court room.
He leaned against the wall, then reconsidered, granting his stiff limbs a stroll up and down the hall.
"Jura?" Her voice came, immediately conjuring a smile to his lips.
"Not quite," he grinned. She gave a sigh of relief.
"Jellal," Erza smiled, too, "is something wrong? Another all-nighter?"
"I hope not," he said in recollection of the previous two days, "at least not if we get this done. That's why I'm calling – where are you right now?" He asked. He did want to finish the trial but he did not want to force her to drop everything to help out where he knew she would not even get paid.
"Just got back; I bought us the red onion you needed," she explained. He could hear the rustling of a paper back in the background, mentally seeing her put groceries into the refrigerator and cupboards.
"Don't rush yourself, but I think it's up to you how quickly I'll be coming home; we're in need of an expert sword handler," he informed. She hummed pensively.
"Up to me?" There was an edge of tease in her tone. "Well, you do always come rather quickly when I'm handling things," she smirked audibly. Jellal chocked, moving away from the court room's door again.
"Erza," he hissed and she laughed. He kept on pacing, trying to get the sudden colour to drain from his face. At least have a different cause prepared to excuse it with.
"I'll be there as soon as I can," she promised.
Another minute or two of chatting passed until he hung up. Judging by the raised brows of the Council when he re-entered, more than two minutes. They must have guessed her to have confirmed after overhearing his statement, now frowning at how he had stretched the call to flirt with his wife during working hours. Not that they knew that.
He handed the lacrima back to Jura once announcing her to be coming. He used his left hand, knowing that besides Ambrose, no one had noticed the ring on his finger. The news really had not travelled, so it appeared, since he would have been sure about at least Jura mentioning it.
They discussed with the accused escorted to the waiting room, but Jellal excused himself not much later, ignoring how they had sent a messenger to fetch her. His steps were fleet as he strode down the corridors, the halls and winding stairs. He waited behind the main gates, which opened not a moment later. He smiled broadly upon seeing her.
Crossing over, he was beaten to the punch. Her arms flew around his neck, his own winding around her midriff. He placed a kiss to the top of her head, and she detached her face from his neck to kiss him properly. Taking her hand, he led the way back up the stairs, fingers linked.
"It's odd to be here legally," she squeezed his hand and he laughed.
"You were here legally at the gala," he returned.
"And when I was under arrest and Natsu crashed through the wall," she pointed out, earning herself another chuckle. He had felt guilty to only come home late at night, and three times in a row by now, but she was such a beacon of joy, it was hard to imagine her sulking when alone. It eased his conscience. "What are we dealing with?"
"Someone who claims to have cut granite with a dagger," Jellal disclosed. "We can't prove him wrong without allowing the liberty of him demonstrating,"
"And he'd rather cut a throat than stone, you think," she filled in the blanks, halting before reaching the top of the stairs. "Jura," she smiled and he followed her gaze to spot the Wizard Saint smiling down at them.
"I'm truly sorry, I didn't mean to intrude – I was going to accompany you but you were too fast," he apologised for having watched them reunite.
"He is always quite quick," Erza said without batting an eyelid. Jellal tightened his hand in bashful warning and she threw him a cheeky grin once Jura had turned around to lead the way.
"If you do that again in court, I swear-"
"Just demonstrate to me at home and I'll stop," she bargained under her breath, a wicked grin crowning her lips.
"Deal," he mumbled, pursing his own.
Jura threw fondly twinkling glances over his shoulder at their whispering – oblivious to the actual topic – until they reached their destination, and his gaze kept on flashing from one to the other when Erza presented herself to the Council while Jellal sat back down. The accused was led into the room, expounding once more how he had split a block of granite, much like the one there was in front of the high loge, with his unparalleled skills of swinging his dagger.
Erza kept a straight face, listening intently until finally approaching the evidence. Her winter clothes glowed, eyes widening from all sides as to why she made them disappear. Her preferred armour and skirt set into place. Jellal gulped. Without knowing, there was no way someone – least of all someone who did not see her wearing the armoury every day – was able to tell how she had slightly loosened the strap attaching the plate around her torso. But he did.
Inwardly slapping himself, Jellal implored his mind to stay focused on the matter at hand, not the small bulge of her stomach. His own gave a momentary twist.
Erza approached the weapon, glancing at the Council to be granted permission to touch. Following the men's nods, she picked up the dagger.
"Rusty," she declared after hardly a second, "blunt and unbalanced," she determined without another glance.
"Rusty?!" The accused exclaimed unbelievingly. The blade was dull, yes, but it was still shining and seeming to be in order.
"It has not been wrought very well – there is a cavity here at the handle; water gathered," she continued, striding up towards the high loge. Jura made the floor rise with his magic, and she stood still as if the move had been planned all along, now at eye level with the four men. She showed her findings, summoning a dagger of her own to compare the craftsmanship.
"There is a bare possibility of the blade to have damaged the granite with enough force being applied, but I'm assuming it to break should I try," Erza offered. The Wizard Saints exchanged glances, then waved for her to go ahead.
Jellal watched in awe as his wife widened her stance in front of the granite block, her own weapon in hand, slicing off a corner with razor-sharp precision. He caught himself to be glad about the gauntlets, hiding away her engagement and wedding ring. She then stepped back, putting enough space between her and the stone, striking again, this time displaying the force of air pressure. A cut had deeply furrowed the stone, yet not struck through it.
"A blade of this size is too small to build up enough momentum without hitting the granite," she explicated her approach. "A contact this strong would, however, result in destruction," she now picked up the dagger in question, slicing as she had before, shattering the evidence into pieces with a loud clattering. There was as much silver as there was rusty red left amongst the shards. "The only possibility could have been an intact dagger or a weapon of a bigger size," she said, a sword appearing in her hand.
Retreating again, Erza slashed at the stone without even the tip of her sword brushing it. A slice as neatly straight as the first slid off the block, landing with a thud.
Turning, the Queen of the Fairies motioned for the accused to stand. He had been outraged, then speechless, now almost shaking with excitement at how that beautiful and at the same time terrifying woman found a way to prove his innocence.
"He could have used a different blade; one of a longer calibre," she speculated, holding out her sword. Eagerly, he held out his bound hands. Jellal saw the twitch of her smirk just before she dropped the sword into the man's hands. He yelped, collapsing under the sudden weight.
Exactly as he had presumed – strong legs and weak arms. Jellal smiled proudly.
With an even more triumphant smile, Erza turned to raise her brows at the Council. They gaped at the scene in front of them, minds' gears rattling with realisation. He could have never wielded a full-sized sword.
Jellal let go of her hand to fish for the keys in his pocket. She was faster, so he watched her from the cold reddened cheeks and the clouds of breath that escaped her. It was hard to grasp how those breaths were not supplying only her own body with oxygen anymore.
His mind snapped back to the present with the click of the lock.
"Is pigeon at the house?" He asked, not least to distract himself. Usually, he would at least say his goodnights if it was still on his windowsill but they had left right after closing the case, his protocol in hand for the report he would have to write. "Because I didn't see it earlier today,"
"It is," Erza let her outdoor clothes disappear, "I made us some grilled cheese for lunch,"
"Grilled cheese?" Jellal looked up from having untied his boot, supporting himself against the wall. With amusement in his eyes, he raised a brow. She unwound his scarf in his stead.
"It had the crumbs- oh! I almost forgot! I have to show you something," Erza exclaimed.
"Regarding grilled cheese?"
"No, the pigeon! I had some armour made for it," she put her hands on her hips, proudly puffing her cheeks. Jellal blinked slowly.
"… armour?"
"Uhuh," she skipped down the hall, "it's really cute," she called back to him and he left his boots scattered in the corner to keep up.
"Wouldn't that make flying a little impractical?"
"That's why it's bespoke pigeon armour," Erza argued enthusiastically. He climbed the stairs, on her heels.
"Shouldn't we maybe focus on saving up money? We haven't even booked anything for the honeymoon and I thought we were trying to pay off the house,"
"You work," she pointed out. "And I have a job this week, too,"
"A job?" Jellal's stomach lurched.
"Mhm, I'm going with Wendy and Lucy – some swamp monster that's been terrorising a village," she retold nonchalantly. Entering their chosen bedroom, Erza looked around for the bird. She scanned the preferred places with her eyes – the cornice, the windowsill, the sink in the bathroom. He could not focus on helping her with the issue she had just dropped on him like a sack of compost – essential to get out of the way but not to be touched unless with the tips of one's fingers.
"Don't you think that might pose too much of a risk?" Jellal pronounced his concerns. Erza ceased to hunt when coming back. Her eyes stayed on him for a moment longer, then she sighed under her breath.
"You know, you've disagreed with pretty much everything I said since we arrived, but not once did you say it directly," she noted. He frowned, not understanding. A frown of her own creased her forehead, and he recognised the mixture of pity, irritation and plea immediately, too used to it by now. "You never even speak your mind; no wonder it's giving you so much trouble," she halted in front of him, reaching up to cup his face. "Just say what you want and don't want," she implored. He did not take the offer.
Because, yes, he did disagree. Strongly even. Armour for the poor pigeon was one thing but both Erza and their still tiny baby in potential danger made him break a sweat of white-hot anxiety. The voices in his head clashed, and once again the guilt-preaching one drowned the others out.
Worried or not, she was not his to decide over. She was not his property and he would never want her to get just the trace of feeling he might have been thinking that way. Their lives were shared but that did not make hers his own and he told himself that he was in no position to forbid her what she desired to do.
Her hands wandered, finding his shoulders. Gently, yet with enough pressure to make him aware of the tension of his muscles, she pressed her fingers down for the tinge of a massage.
"Jellal," Erza urged. Her eyes had already taken his captive, and it took another moment for her to ease away, gaze averting. Suppressing another sigh, she released him. His heart gave a sting as he watched her walk away. She tugged on the curtains, closing them, only to spot the pigeon huddled into the far corner. But she had lost her zeal, merely scowling at it.
With his chest still in hollow-feeling fractions, Jellal followed. Erza winced when his hands reached around her ribs, then relaxed again. His chin came to rest on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry," was all he could produce. He felt so full of bad habits and attributes, he did not know where to begin working on himself. And it certainly did not help how one was harder to get over than the next.
"Apologise to yourself, not me," she chastised, though with a softer tone now. Running her hands along his arms, she put them atop his. To anyone other than them, it would have appeared rather bizarre as they stood there, facing the closed curtains instead of the window, but the spaces of their minds were already too vast as not to get lost in those alone.
"In any case, you still owe me something," Erza broke the silence. Glad not to dwell on the problem, Jellal raked his brain for what she could imply. "You said we had a deal and I kept my part of it," she had taken his upper hand, absently trailing a finger along the lines of his palm.
Oh, that deal, it dawned on him.
"Make-up sex?" Jellal asked and she hummed positive as if nothing was amiss with that. He was starting to wonder whether it was the house that drove her hormones this wild. At the thought of hormones, his brain pulled out the recently tucked away fears again, reminding of the pregnancy with a surge of frightful adrenaline.
"I almost forgot about it," Erza interrupted his nearing collapse of nerves, "your cut," she held up the hand she had studied. There was but a faint line, hardly more than the imprint of his fingermark.
"It's just a paper cut," he soothed but she shook her head. Accidentally hitting his jaw. So she wriggled out of his grasp.
"I wouldn't be so sure just yet," Erza warned, "better have it checked by a professional," she said matter-of-factly. Jellal opened his mouth to protest at the sheer ridiculousness, but no words would form when she glowed with magic, a by-far-too-short-to-count-as-professional nurse uniform outlining her curves. He wanted to gulp but all he could do was stare for another moment, jaw still hanging undignifiedly.
A smirk replaced her previously played graveness.
"I do believe we had an agreement about you showing me just how-"
"You don't have to spell it out again," Jellal caught himself, though his legs somewhat buckled when a pointed nail prod his chest, forcing him to step backwards with her in pursuit. "I'm weak to you, I get it,"
"Oh, and don't I know it," Erza smirked, something between a purr and giggle building up in her throat. His calves hit the side of the bed and before he had the chance to think of an escape, his ankles were mercilessly attacked, his balance stolen. Smugly, Erza lowered herself to straddle his hips.
The mattress gave a creak, his cheeks turning an even deeper shade of scarlet when she leaned over his chest.
"How about," she lowered her lids almost devilishly, "you try not to be quick for once," she grinned, now undoubtedly diabolically. Jellal gave a dry laugh.
"Now that is torture."